


The Mark of the Year

by Isis



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, References to game events, Sauna, Witcher!Ciri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 02:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10452651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: One year after burying Skjall and facing the Wild Hunt, Ciri returns to Lofoten.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the sauna scene in the Witcher 3 quest "The Calm Before the Storm." (I was disappointed that nothing interesting happened after Ciri told Astrid that she preferred women!) 
> 
> Thanks to Filigranka for beta reading.

"Your coin, witcher," said the ealdorman as he handed Ciri the purse. She didn't begrudge him its small size; it was a peasant village, farmers and hunters and tanners, and she suspected the coin had been scraped together one crown at a time from families who barely eked out enough for themselves. "And if ye'll take a meal, no doubt my Mara has made enough stew for three."

His wary eyes belied the invitation, and Mara, hovering in the doorway, looked even less welcoming. A bowl of stew would warm Ciri's stomach, but the cold chicken leg in her pack would feed her just as well, and a solitary meal under a tree down the road would be more congenial than the respectful yet resentful silence that would surround her at the ealdorman's table. "Thank you, no. I'd best be on my way."

"As ye will." She saw the relief in his face as he nodded. She nodded back, and strode down the road, and soon the village had been left far behind her.

Ciri made camp well off the road, by a broad stream that emerged gurgling from a crack in a nearby cliff. A few more days and she'd be ready to spend her coin on a soft bed at an inn, but this would do for now, and besides, she liked sleeping out, under the stars that told her she was in this world and no other. It had been even better when Geralt had been with her. She'd loved those long nights by the campfire, reminiscing over the past and speculating on the future. But she and Geralt had parted ways nearly seven months ago. Now he was enjoying his hard-earned retirement from the witcher's life with Yen, and she was alone on the Path.

Not that this was a bad thing, she reminded herself as she snuggled deeper into her bedroll. She'd chosen to be a witcher, and she had no regrets. Still, it was a lonely life.

 _Stop feeling sorry for yourself. If you don't want to be lonely, do something about it._ She could almost hear Geralt's chiding voice in her head. Not that this was a bad thing. A year ago, when they'd had to face the Wild Hunt, she'd been terrified that her skills and powers would not be enough; Geralt had encouraged her to trust herself, to rely on her judgment and abilities, and that had given her the confidence she'd needed to defeat the White Frost.

One year. Had it really been that long? Ciri counted back in her mind. Almost exactly a year ago. Maybe that's why these thoughts were bubbling up again, the loneliness and discontent and uncertainty: because the world had made its grand loop through the heavens and was back where it had been when it was balanced on the edge of destruction. A year ago she and Geralt had gone to Hindarsfjall to see Skjall's grave, only to find his body discarded in a pit as though he'd been a wild beast. They'd dug a grave and given him the burial he deserved. He'd helped her flee from the Wild Hunt, after all; it was the least she could have done, the very least. Afterward, she'd felt something inside her settle into place, as though it had been his ghost rattling around in her heart, restless and unhappy. 

A shot of that same confidence, that was what she needed now. A reminder that not everyone feared and distrusted witchers, even though witchers risked their lives to keep them safe. A reminder that what she did mattered; that her work wove her life into the lives of others, and that what others did – like Skjall – made a difference to her life, too. 

It had been a year since she'd buried Skjall. Maybe it was time to visit him again.

* * *

The morning air felt different in Hindarsfjall than it had in Temeria, cooler and sharper with an occasional strong scent of seaweed and fish. The familiar scent reminded Ciri of her childhood. Perhaps she should visit Kaer Trolde later, visit Hjalmar and Cerys. It had been a year since she'd last seen them as well. 

But it was Skjall she was here to see, and so she made her way up the hillside to the place where she and Geralt had buried him, half wondering whether the villagers had, as they'd promised her, respected her actions. She was pleased to see that not only was the grave undesecrated, but the mound of earth was clean of weeds and debris. A simple stone with Skjall's name carved on it had been placed at one end. 

"Good," she murmured to herself. She'd brought flowers with her, blooms she'd picked from the roadside and forest, and she laid them at the foot of the stone. "At least someone else cares." 

"His family cares," said a voice from behind her. "His sister cares."

Ciri had heard the footsteps on the road but had assumed it was just one of the villagers on her way somewhere, to the forest or a shrine. She turned her head to see a freckled young woman with light brown hair in braids, her hands on her hips. She remembered those freckles, and those hips, too, though they'd been rather less clad when she'd last seen them. She cast back in her mind for Skjall's sister's name, found it. "Astrid." 

"Traveler," said Astrid, nodding slightly. She took a small polished shell from her pocket and bent to place it beside Ciri's flowers. It shone with the iridescence of the sea, purple and blue.

"Ciri. Please. You should call me Ciri."

Astrid's somewhat wary expression softened. "Ciri, then. You buried Skjall, told the folk he'd not been running off, that he'd been helping you. That was a kind thing."

"It was the right thing to do. He saved my life. As did you, for that matter. "

"Oh?" Astrid raised an eyebrow.

"You told me that the sauna would restore my strength, and you were right. I needed that strength to escape the Hunt."

"Looks like it worked, then. Or are they still chasing you? We've been doing our best to rebuild Lofoten in the past year. Would be a pity if they destroyed all our hard work."

"We defeated them," said Ciri. "They'll not trouble you again."

"Good." Astrid bent to run her hand along the curve of the gravestone, then straightened again to look Ciri in the eye. For the first time, she smiled. "So how about a sauna?"

"Don't tell me I look as bad as I did then!" 

"Ach, no, and a good thing, too. You looked like something dragged in from the bottom of a fishing net. But you and I, we've been thinking of the past and the dead. A sauna will clear our heads."

"Is a sauna your answer to _everything_?"

"On Hindarsfjall, it is!"

Ciri followed Astrid down toward Lofoten, wondering whether it had been keen insight or mere luck that Astrid had hit on the true reason for her visit. Clearing her head, that was it exactly. She already felt better after laying the flowers on Skjall's grave, but there would be no harm in staying longer and enjoying the sauna. It had healed her body when she'd been running from the Hunt; perhaps it would do the same for her troubled heart. 

In the changing room she hesitated only a moment over the towels before deciding that this time she'd go without. That first time, she'd felt acutely aware of the bandages wrapped around her torso, but both Astrid and her mother had worn nothing but the briefest of undergarments, so that was what she would do now, too. 

Still, she felt a little self-conscious as she walked into the sauna. Three old women sat on the bench nearest the door, and they turned their heads to watch her with sharp, curious eyes.

"I'm a friend of Astrid's," she said quickly. 

That seemed to only increase their interest. "You're not from Hindarsfjall," said one. 

"Not from Skellige at all, I'd wager," said another. 

The third narrowed her eyes. "You're the lass that brought the Hunt upon us. Destroyed our village, killed our menfolk."

They were only three wrinkled women from a tiny village on a tiny island, but suddenly it felt to Ciri as though she were back under Bald Mountain, facing the Crones. Her hand twitched, wanting the sword that wasn't there. _No. They have every right to be angry._ "It wasn't – I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I –"

"It was the elf that brought her here after they were shipwrecked," Astrid said as she stepped into the room. "She wasn't even awake. It wasn't her doing."

"The village would be more than this ruin if she hadn't come," snapped one of the women.

"And I'd be Queen of Skellige if I'd been born to the an Craite, but I wasn't and I'm not." Astrid lifted the jug of water and poured it onto the hot stones, and a whoosh of steam rose between them and the old women. "Sit down, Ciri. Don't let these harpies make you feel bad."

Ciri sat on the bench farthest from the Skellige women, and Astrid dropped down beside her. The heat of the place felt good, like a warm blanket wrapped around her. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the steam and tried to will the tension out of her body. 

"Oh, you've got a tattoo!" exclaimed Astrid. "A red rose. It mean anything?"

"A reminder of someone special who's dead now." 

One of the old women huffed audibly. "You leave a lot of bodies in your wake, girl."

Ciri felt a whoosh of air against her skin as Astrid jumped to her feet. "She is _my guest_ , Siggi. Be polite, or be silent." Ciri could hear the barely-suppressed anger in her voice.

"You could use some lessons in that yourself. Didn't your mother teach you to respect your elders?"

"Being rude to a guest is not worthy of respect," said Astrid evenly. 

There was a pause. "Well," said one of the women, eventually. "I reckon we've been here long enough."

"Aye, the air's grown foul," said the woman Astrid had called Siggi. "Just as soon not breathe it any longer." She got up and headed out of the sauna, and the other two filed after her. 

"I didn't mean to cause trouble," said Ciri.

"Ach, don't worry. Those old hags don't like anyone. They don't like me because I'd rather fish than work a loom. They still won't use Skjall's name, still call him Craven. I hate them." There was venom in Astrid's voice, the pain of a hurt renewed. She paced across the small, steamy chamber.

"Skjall was a good man. Don't let them tell you otherwise."

Astrid sighed and came back to her seat next to Ciri. "So tell me. When you said you preferred women, were you just trying to spare my feelings on account of my brother? Or did you mean it?"

Ciri turned her head sharply and met Astrid's eyes. She was looking at her straight-on, open and honest, but the edge of her mouth was raised in just the hint of a smile. "Is that a question? Or a proposition?"

The hint of smile broadened. "Maybe both?"

"Then, yes," said Ciri. She placed her hand on Astrid's bare leg. "To both."

"Good to have that cleared up," said Astrid, and leaned to kiss her. 

Warm lips, warm breasts, the warm and steamy air around them. She slid her hand around Astrid's waist, pulling her close, and Astrid ran her fingers along Ciri's jaw. The sweat rose and beaded on their skin, dripped to the floor.

Astrid stood, grasping Ciri's hand and pulling her along. "Come on, it's too hot in here for this. Time to swim."

Ciri followed Astrid out of the sauna and down the walkway that extended alongside the sauna building, by the sea. She remembered plunging into the water when she'd been here before, the shock of the cold hitting her skin. "You Skelligers are crazy," she muttered.

"Come on," repeated Astrid, and dove into the water.

Ciri sighed and dove in after her. It was as icy as she remembered, numbing her skin instantly. She surfaced, sputtering and looking around for Astrid. 

"Here!" Astrid called. She was treading water some distance away, and waved a dripping hand. "Follow me."

Astrid cut the water like an otter, sleek and smooth, and it was all Ciri could do to keep her in sight. They paralleled the shore until Ciri thought she'd succumb to the icy water, then suddenly Astrid was climbing a ladder and holding a hand out to her. "Up you go."

"S-s-so much for the sauna," Ciri got out through her chattering teeth. She'd followed Astrid up the ladder to a sort of balcony outside what looked like a fisherman's hut. "Now I'm freezing."

Astrid drew her into the hut. The room was small, barely large enough for the narrow bed and two small chests that it contained. "We'll warm each other," she said, taking a towel from one of the chests. "I'll dry you off." 

Ciri tried not to shiver as Astrid briskly toweled her off. The coarse cloth left her skin reddened and tingling, feeling simultaneously hot and cold. Astrid then drew the bedcover aside and motioned for her to get in. Ciri pulled the blankets and furs up to her chin, enjoying the soft warmth, while Astrid dried herself with a few quick passes of the towel.

"Mother's spinning in the yard below, so we must be quiet," she said as she slipped into the bed next to Ciri. Her hands felt hot against Ciri's sides as she slid them down to her hips and pulled her close.

"As a mouse," promised Ciri. She kissed Astrid's neck, licked at her earlobe. "Two quiet mice."

It had been a long time since Ciri had shared her bed with another. On the run from the Wild Hunt there hadn't been any time to think of anything other than eluding her pursuers; while on the Path with Geralt, she had been all too conscious of his fatherly concern. When she had struck out on her own as a witcher, suspicion and prejudice kept others at a distance, with the exception of a few young men whose boldness came from strong drink and a desire to show off in front of their friends. Hardly the type she was interested in bedding.

But Astrid wasn't showing off to anyone. Astrid was strong and pretty and had her own mind and her own thoughts, and she knew Ciri not as the fearsome witcher who slew monsters, but as the injured woman she and her brother had helped to heal. As the woman who had brought trouble to Lofoten and to Skjall, then had tried to make it right. Astrid was warm and tasted like the sea, and the tiny breathy moans that escaped her throat as they moved together made Ciri wonder what she'd sound like if they were alone on a deserted isle somewhere, with nobody to hear them but the birds circling overhead.

"I wish you could be as loud as you wanted," she whispered into Astrid's ear as she moved her hand in the tight space between their bodies. She slid sideways so she was straddling the ridge of Astrid's hip, giving her fingers room to work, giving her body something to press against. "I could take you somewhere far away, where we wouldn't have to be quiet."

" _You_ should be quiet," Astrid murmured. She placed her hand over Ciri's, guiding her with gentle pressure, then turned her head so they were nose-to-nose. "You talk too much."

"I only –"

"Shh." Astrid tilted her head and their lips met, and then there were no more words, just the sounds of bodies and breathing and soft exhalations of pleasure.

* * *

Afterward Ciri must have fallen asleep, for she woke to the sound of footsteps on the interior stairs. Reflexively she clutched the blankets to her chest, then dropped them when she realized that Astrid was no longer in the bed with her, which meant that the footsteps must be hers. A moment later, the door opened, proving her right.

Astrid set Ciri's clothes and swords on the foot of the bed. "For when you're ready to get dressed. But you don't have to hurry." Her gaze fell admiringly on Ciri's breasts.

"I was worried you'd make me swim back to the sauna."

"Oh, I would have," Astrid said with a grin. "But you were sleeping like a cat in sunlight. Looked like you needed it."

Ciri pulled on her trousers, then her blouse. "I did," she admitted. "I didn't sleep well last night."

"Don't sleep well on ships?"

"I, uh – yes, that's right."

"Odd," mused Astrid. "It didn't look to me as though you arrived by ship this time."

Ciri looked up from buckling her boots to meet Astrid's sharp, direct gaze. "You saw me arrive?"

"I was pissing behind a tree." She shrugged. "The air turned dark and swirled like the depths of the sea, and then you were there. I reckon you must be a sorceress."

"Does that trouble you?" Ciri asked slowly. "Yennefer said she upset the Skelligers with her sorcery."

"Of course they were upset. She destroyed Freya's Garden."

"I destroyed Lofoten."

"That wasn't your doing, it was the Huntsmen who chased you that did it. Stop blaming yourself for everything!"

It had been the Huntsmen who destroyed the village, yes, but they wouldn't have come had Avallac'h not carried her there. And the magic that had laid waste to Freya's Garden was the power Yennefer had called upon in order to find her. _I_ can't _stop blaming myself. I am to blame for it all._

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Astrid placed a hand on her wrist. "Stop, Ciri," she said, her voice gentle. "Maybe you are the big fish, and all the little fish swimming with you get caught in the net that was cast to catch you. But it is not you who catches those little fish. It is the fisherman, and the fisherman's net. The gods choose where they cast their nets. It is not your fault."

"You make it sound like I'm boasting about how important I am," said Ciri, chagrined. 

"Well, you have reason. After all, you are a powerful sorceress." A thoughtful expression crossed Astrid's face. " _Could_ you take me with you, somewhere far away, through that air like the sea?"

Ciri nodded. "I could. If you wanted. But –" She hesitated a moment, trying to find the right words. "But I meant it as a way to find privacy, that's all. I didn't intend – I mean, we haven't spent a lot of time together, and I'm a witcher now, I travel all the time, I can't –"

Astrid interrupted her with a laugh. "Oh, you should see your face! I'm not asking to marry you! And I'm not leaving Lofoten for a new home, not while my mother needs me to fish for our supper and keep the house from falling down." Then her face grew serious again. "But do you think maybe you might come back for a visit, a time or two?"

A bubble of something light and happy and unfamiliar surfaced in Ciri's heart, and after a moment she realized it was joy. "I had intended this visit as a sort of pilgrimage," she confessed. Astrid deserved to hear this, she realized. "Last year, I was about to do something important and terrifying. I knew I had to do it, but I was afraid. So I came back here to see Skjall's grave, and discovered he didn't have one. Because of me." She looked into Astrid's face, daring her to object, knowing she wouldn't. "By burying Skjall, who had lost everything by helping me, I remembered what courage really is."

"Did you do the terrifying thing, then?"

 _Yes, I saved the world. But I'd better not say that, or you'll accuse me of boasting, again!_ Ciri managed to keep the smile off her face, and simply nodded.

"And you said you're a witcher now. So I reckon you face a lot of terrifying things."

"Nothing as terrifying as – as what happened then, last year."

"But still, you must need to be reminded of courage more than once a year."

 _Oh._ "Definitely more than once a year." Ciri felt that bubble in her heart again, felt her lips start to curve into a smile. "How often do you suppose I might come and not wear out my welcome?"

"Maybe once or twice a season, to start with? Though if you come in winter, you'll have to use that magic of yours to take me somewhere warmer."

"I could do that."

"Well, that's settled," said Astrid. Then she cocked her head, looking suddenly alert. "And that's Mother coming into the house. You should probably leave now." She pulled Ciri to her feet and kissed her hard. "I'll look for you in three months."

"All right," said Ciri. The bubble of light and warmth seemed to spread throughout her whole body. She was certain that if she jumped into the air she'd soar right through the roof of the hut, lift into the sky. She reached for her swords, which still lay on the bed, and buckled them to her back. Their weight would keep her grounded, at least.

"Go on. I want to see the magic."

Ciri nodded. It felt strange to do this in front of someone who wasn't a sorceress or mage or witcher. But Astrid knew what she was, _who_ she was, and didn't judge her for it. She brought up a portal – hearing Astrid's delighted gasp behind her – and stepped through.

She walked out onto the stony beach around the headland from Kaer Trolde harbor, looking up at the gathering clouds. Probably it would rain soon. She'd go through town and check the notice board – likely there'd be work for a witcher in the town or the surrounding countryside – and then pay a visit to the keep.

As she walked toward the busy harbor center, she felt something shift against her leg, something in the pocket of her trousers that she would have sworn was empty. She stopped and dug her fingers into the pocket. They closed around a small, cool object, and she pulled it out to look at it. It was a polished shell, purple and blue.

"Maybe in less than three months," she said to the shell. She put it back in her pocket and strode on to Kaer Trolde, smiling.


End file.
